


Rainforest

by furiedheart



Category: Loki - Fandom, Thor - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Consensual Somnophilia, Cunnilingus, Human AU, M/M, Oral Sex, Period blood, Sibling Incest, Somnophilia, baths, sex during period
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 23:26:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4368365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furiedheart/pseuds/furiedheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki gets his period.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rainforest

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this last night because of my own wave of crimson, and thought Loki might understand and Thor would worship. 
> 
> This is for themantlingdark, whose work is superb. 
> 
> Beta'd by my lovely heart, [duskyhuedladysatan](http://duskyhuedladysatan.tumblr.com). Thank you, darling.

It was just after two in the afternoon when Loki padded up the rickety stairs to their loft apartment, fishing out keys from his pocket, eyes drooping with fatigue. He had been feeling off most of the day, measuring women’s busts for accurate bra sizes, his tape a rolled up knot inside the black front pocket of his apron. It was the summer heat, he thought, wiping his brow and scowling up at the butter yellow sky, too bright to properly sneer at. Dropping his keys in the bowl by the door, noting that Thor’s were still missing, he headed straight through the cavernous bottom room and up the softer, plush stairs to their open bedroom. Their bed was unmade and askew in the corner, inched there over the months from their frenzied fucking. He rather liked the sight of it, knowing to sink into its wrinkled depths was to inhale the smell of rain clouds and cut grass, old perfume and the hint of feathers. Ignoring it now, he stripped and let his clothes fall like a trail of wilted night blooms, the lingerie store stamped into the fabric like a cloud of beautiful misery. He filled the bath and scooped Epsom salts into both hands, letting them sprinkle like glitter into the water.

He sank into it with a groan, long-fingered hands supporting his weight as steam wafted over his face. His skin, as pale as the bleached spines of dead sea animals stranded in brown sand, reddened almost instantly. He didn’t know what it was about hot water and its dizzyingly relaxing affect on him that was so different from normal summer sunshine, which always made him ache with irritability and rivers of sweat. But hot bath water rolled over him like a balm, a perfect snug blanket. Lying back, he curled up on his side and let the heat and salt soak into his very marrow, muscles lengthening and loosening, rubber bands gone soft.

That’s where Thor found him an hour later, the water no longer steaming in great clouds. It dripped from the faucet like the ancient heartbeat of a mountain cavern, leading him straight to where his sweet brother lay like a creature cast adrift on the swells of a magical stream, left like a gift only for him. Under the soft plump of his left breast, Thor could see the dark lightning bolt tattooed there, and smiled. But as he stepped further into the room, careful with his weight so as not to make the floor creak, Thor spotted a swirl of color in the water.

Held loose in a fetal self-embrace, Loki’s brows were bunched together delicately, his red lips parted gently in sleep, completely unaware. Thor knelt by the tub and watched as the eddies of crimson swirled gracefully from the hot cleft between Loki’s legs, tucked tightly but still visible from where he knelt, a cleft furred in soft black, the tiniest peek of pink. The bloodied ribbons hung suspended in the water, tiny galaxies of dispensed power, a mystery to him but cherished nonetheless.

Normally he would have let Loki steep in the bath like the mermaid he was, but the water was already nearing tepid and Thor worried Loki would wake later on with a crick in his neck and shuttered shoulders. Bending close, he dipped his hands still bruised into the water and anchored his arms under Loki’s knees and shoulders. Crushed grass blades and specks of bright flower petals floated away, his skin cleansed.

Loki woke almost instantly, green eyes wide in feral panic, a startled gasp thrust against Thor’s neck.

“Easy,” Thor whispered, pressing his cheek to Loki’s temple, hoping to stop him from thrashing. “Shh, now.”

“Thor.” Loki’s voice was fogged from the water hanging thickly in the air. He craned his neck and saw the clouds of blood below, and winced.

“Shit,” he breathed, letting his head fall on Thor’s shoulder. His hand went to his belly, palming it there.

“It’s alright. There, now.” Thor turned and carried his brother into the bedroom, the loft yawning open beyond the low barrier wall separating them from the floor below. Their bed was a nest of pillows and mussed sheets, the ends knotted together just like Loki liked, the better to stuff their legs into and cocoon themselves against everything.

He laid him against the pillows, dripping and languid, heavy and perfumed in iron, the copper tang sluicing in twists down between his thighs, strawberry ribbons on a field of snow. Always on the verge of collapse the first day of his menstruation, Loki was already beginning to fade, fingers gliding on his shoulders, his grip slipping, black nails digging to hold on.

“Make them go away. Please.” His hand was planted on his abdomen, protective, the cramps beginning to rumble and weave a little tighter. Thor hurried with his clothes, tugging off his work shirt, unzipping his jeans, eyes glued to the core of Loki, to the slit moist and leaking beads of red. Loki arched, his hand stuttering closer to his mound, but not touching, no. “Thor.”

Loki tended to forget, but Thor never did. He would take the final pill of the cycle and then throw himself into the next week unhindered by his daily ritual of plastic-breaking, pill-popping, water-downing infertility. He was always surprised by his period, which made him drowsy and lethargic, stumbling around with eyes half-closed, Thor’s name the first thing ready to roll off his tongue, surprising a woman once at the lingerie store whom he’d addressed as his brother because of her yellow mane – which just in the corner of his eye was the right shade, the right length, as familiar to him as rain – but whose startled look zapped him out of his rare slip of control. Yet, Thor knew down to the day when Loki would get his period, and he always tried to be done with his labor before usual, eager to be home and witness.

The scent of it would linger in the air for days, the sharp tang of shed lifeblood like a perfume Thor would chase in the sheets, finding himself nose deep in Loki’s cunt, his chin and lips stained like when he’d gobbled to the pits the cherries their mother used to buy by the pound – back when Loki was still dressed in frilly socks and satin skirts, his black hair done up in pigtails. And his oblivious brother, who for days would hover in a state of near-paralysis, mumbling about honey-glazed fruit bread and the chatter of birds outside that drove him crazy, would startle from sleep with hands tangled in Thor’s hair, the look of owls in his eyes, whispering, “ _Oh_.”

Naked now, Thor draped himself back over his brother, whose pert little tits were peaked already, the nipples tight. He closed his mouth over one and swallowed Loki’s devastated moan, moving as he moved, spine bowed to spine arched.

“Yes, take them…take them out of me. Make them go away. I don’t want them.” He pushed clumsily at Thor’s wrist, guiding him lower, and Thor understood easily, sinking two fingers in at once, aided by the slick viscous goo that always comes with the blood. Choking on a cry, Loki’s head dropped back into the pillow, his long throat bobbing as he swallowed and tried to breathe. Eyes sharp on his every twitch, Thor groaned at his nipple and started a steady push-in, wrist locked, fingers straight and long, curling at the tips.

“Fuck. Thor—fuck.” He gasped, and writhed, chin down to watch his brother through hooded eyes, trembling as he held his leg open with one hand, Thor’s bulk anchoring his other thigh to the bed.

It was easy to make him topple and break free of that first climax when on his period, that initial orgasm that always seemed to hold him prisoner, refusing to budge until Thor had nearly jawed his way to Loki’s very heart. Always nearly on the very verge, Loki would be a cursing, sweaty mess, clawing Thor closer with pleas for _more more more_ , harder, faster, deeper until finally, just a little _bit_ – his entire being would spring apart, split at the seams, his chest a totaled cavity of butterfly wings and pulsing horse hearts. And then after, for hours, he would be a bouncing, hissing, crooning wildcat, coming again and again, over and over, his deliciously thick spend coating Thor’s cock and dripping into puddles over his balls and the bedspread below. Then later, sated and sleepily content, he would burrow into Thor’s side and breathe at his armpit, asleep within moments.

“Please.” Voice cracked, Loki was beginning to tighten, his abdominal muscles clenching, thighs shaking. With frantic hands, he reached low and took Thor’s wrists in his sweaty fingers, yanking with a heated groan, jamming Thor’s fingers deeper into himself. Blood and slick bubbled out, lighting the air with carnivorous blooms, and Thor’s mouth went suddenly dry, licking his lips like a man parched of water, the fount he needed and craved only inches from him.

“Yes, yes, please— _yes_.” Loki’s eyes rolled up and then he tightened around Thor’s fingers, buried to the last knuckle. He shuddered out Thor’s name, falling back to the pillows, crimson clouding his cheeks. Thor knew to press his thumb to Loki’s clit, to draw it out, to get his voice going again. And it did, launching Loki into further spasms, words hoarse and near tears.

“Thor, for the _love—_.” Another cry. Another wave of crimson. And because he couldn’t hold back any longer, Thor withdrew his bloodied fingers, leaving stripes of red on Loki’s leg as he gripped him wide and dipped his mouth low to drink.

Crushed rosemary and bursting earth, dirtied roots and the bubble of juniper berries. And iron, slaking his lust. Thor moaned and dug his tongue deeper, nose stimulating the last of Loki’s delight.

“Oh,” he sighed, smiling faintly. He cupped a small breast. “There they go. I can feel them…dissipating like…like storm clouds against a fresh new sun.”

And here came the poems, his half-poet.

Thor hummed a pleased growl and then slinked up to a crouch, hand reaching for the condom under the pillow. Loki’s eyes fluttered wide at the sight of him, like some barbaric hunter after a hard, proud kill, cut muscle and predatory hunch. It made his heart stutter-thump like a hummingbird’s, his warrior brother-lover so based in this need for Loki’s giver-blood, sunk deep with spiced earth and dew drops, with the shimmer glass of dragonfly wings and the deeper, ancient magic of molten core rock.

“Need it,” Loki argued quietly, hands grappling at Thor’s waist. Thor slipped the condom on and rolled it down to the base. It was snug but barely there, and enough for the both of them. He crowded over Loki and pressed their lips together as he thrust in smoothly, a swift and sudden jolt. He smiled when Loki screamed, swallowing it like he would the moon, shivers studding his skin when Loki raked fingers down his back.

“I love you,” he grunted, breaking away and peering at Loki through his curtain of hair. Loki’s own hair was just as long, dark as pitch and made of silk, not like his rough wheat stalks, and he liked to grab it and twist it around his wrist to hold on to.

“You know I do,” Loki mumbled, lashes sinking low. His energy was sapping, the onslaught of period blood and the creeping steam of his bath taking him to slumber faster than ever. But he roused with a gasp and clung tight to Thor’s broad back, dwarfed by him as only the moon could by the sun. “You finish, you hear me. Finish and fuck me hard. Make them go away for the rest of this…godforsaken… _bleeding_ trial. Please, brother.” He shook his head faintly, green eyes slipping up, up. “Oh, I can’t. My darling, I can’t.”

He went limp so slowly, his last reserve of strength lingering in the cradle of his thighs as he fought vainly to stay conscious and hold his brother close. But his legs sagged open and his arms fell away, flopping to the bed so that his black nails curled loosely at the ceiling.

Thor’s heart galloped as he hooked Loki’s legs over both elbows and spiked all ten fingers into the mattress, hips snapping. Folded in half, Loki’s legs drooped in mid-air, bouncing with every thrust. Hair swaying, Thor grunted and breathed harsh, quick breaths, eyes roving his brother’s face, smoothed over with calm slumber, relief etched around his lovely mouth, patches of blood drying on the skin there, an echo of Thor’s kiss.

Thor gave another hard swallow, wanting the drops of Loki’s womb to settle deep in his belly and take root. He wanted a garden, an orchard. He wanted a tiny rainforest of his brother there, with fruit trees and swinging vines; he wanted him seeped into the lining of his very veins, his bones.

He was tumbling close, Loki’s cunt so slick, dragging him in.

“Yeah,” he gritted out, stuffing himself inside as much as he could, balls bunching up and pulsing, pretending there was no condom, that all he throbbed out swept and coursed and puddled _in_ , filling Loki to the brim, until one couldn’t be told from the other.

Panting, head hanging, lips brushing the artery at Loki’s neck, Thor slowly came back to himself, blinking away the spots in his eyes, arms vibrating with the effort to avoid crushing his brother. Loki slept on, a moist tendril of black hair stuck to his cheekbone, a river of ink on canvas.

“Little brother,” Thor breathed, kissing that cheek, pulling out very gently. He tossed the bloodied condom into the bin kept special by the bed, and rolled to his side, bringing Loki’s limp arm up and around so as not to squash it. “Come here, then.” He pulled Loki snug against him, chuckling when Loki’s head squirmed into his armpit and promptly stayed put, breath evening out

It wasn’t evening yet and Thor wanted to cook them dinner, thinking to chop up some onions and meat for stew. But first to rest, to chase down that stormy, static scent, to hum and breathe it in, his brother’s arms tightening around him like ever, even in sleep.

 

 

 End.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
